


Take the World Apart

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:09:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: Beginning just after Season 3 Ep. 12 Aletheia – Arthur Claypool had created and secreted away the drives that contained the early stages of the Samaritan program. He had made off with and hidden away his “child” inside a bank vault after the government had ordered its destruction. John Greer, knowing of its existence, surreptitiously exchanged the real drives for visually identical copies. Harold Finch had managed to convince his friend to destroy the drives before they fell into the wrong hands. Both he and Arthur were fooled into thinking that they had done away with the original program but Decima now had possession of Arthur’s original AI to bastardize and alter to do their bidding.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see where this goes. Comments are appreciated and will determine what direction this story goes in. Thanks in advance!
> 
> Thanks as always to oddgit for the beta!

He sat there in front of the computer monitors, six in all, going over every line of code he’d painstakingly written, over and over again until he was absolutely, unequivocally sure that it was right.

He’d been working on it for months now, blindly and automatically entering streams of familiar data continuously. He wasn’t exactly sure where the first inklings of the idea came from, but now belonged to him entirely. 

The only time he’d stopped typing was when nature called or when they came in to make him drink something that had a bitter aftertaste but always made his concentration back on point. 

They would then make him eat protein bars and shakes to keep his metabolism in peak working condition for almost round the clock output. 

He never once felt the need to eat, drink, or sleep as the binary numbers flowed out of his brain, so they would give him something to make him close his eyes and rest for four to six hours out of a twenty-four period so his body didn’t revolt and shut down on its own. 

He was in a zone of absolute and utter contentment and the production was astounding. Everything he’d ever known and learned through his life came out of him naturally with complete spontaneity. No one ever seemed to give him credit for his intelligence and ingenuity at MIT, if only they could see him now...

His mind was laser focused, singularly locked on to its objective and the data poured out of him like water. Complete understanding and ease of what he was building was as second nature to him as breathing.

Hours in a day, days in a week, weeks into months passed by and he wasn’t even minutely aware of it. The hum of monitors and servers all around him lulled him into a comfortable existence of being at one with the machine he was happily affixed to. 

The lighting and the temperature of the room served to make the atmosphere and the process of what he was doing seem completely natural. 

He had everything he needed in this space. There was nothing else in the world but for himself and the computers, whose sole purpose was to facilitate and produce the life he was making with his own capable hands and brilliant intellect.

There was nothing else that pervaded his mind but for the endless strings of ones and zeroes that traveled from his fingertips through the keyboard to magically appear on the screen. 

The seemingly arbitrary and monotonous display of numbers that would appear, to the average person’s eye, as a garbled mess of confusion, was to his own eyes an elegant orchestration of perfection… a symphony of unparalleled achievement.

His magnum opus of a life created for and dedicated to the sole purpose of producing the ultimate and unmatched Artificial Intelligence in existence. This was why he was born…

He was very close to completion. Only hours away from spawning and unleashing the perfect being. 

He had almost achieved his aim. An entity that would act on its own, independently from him at last, but his brain suddenly and inexplicably latched on to that fact and rebelled against him. 

His mind and body began to slow down and stagnate in anticipation of a total mental and physical breakdown. 

He was only just now aware of the eventuality of not having this all-consuming goal to strive for after it was finished and the cold reality was making his head swim. 

He was now able to think outside this one mission and contemplate other things. What was he going to do when he was finished with his life’s only purpose? He hadn’t had a full moment to think about anything else before now. 

His every waking hour and conscious thought had been poured into meeting this goal and now that he was so close to being finished… he was becoming frightened.

He heard the door open and, startled from the noise that for some reason sounded intensely loud to his ears, he turned to look in panic. 

It was only another of the required drinks he was made to ingest. 

He dutifully drained the full glass of liquid and immediately felt his mind focus back on nothing else but the mission that had been designated to him. A switch had been turned and he was back to being a laser focused binary producing machine once more.

He turned back to the monitors and his mind centered and his fingers flew over the keyboard on auto-pilot once again.

Three hours later he looked up, startled, when he sensed a presence beside him and a hand was placed on his shoulder. 

He looked up into the old weathered face of John Greer.

“Ah. I see that you’re extremely close to finishing… very good Mister Ingram,” the older man remarked and smiled down at him. “We didn’t need Mister Finch after all, now did we?” he stated smugly. “Very good indeed…”


	2. Chapter 2

Harold sat in the library in front of his numerous computer monitors and watched the strings of data quickly and steadily scrolling by and the digital clock on the monitor above them ticking down unremittingly.

The ominous display loomed over him like an executioner’s axe, vividly reminding him that whatever this new threat was, the time was fast approaching when it would go live and change things he had no control over whatsoever. 

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going to happen, but he knew that whatever it was, it was going to mean immense trouble and not only for them but more than likely for the rest of the world as well. 

He saw John’s tall form walking towards him from his periphery, approaching him stealthily as was the former ops way intuitively. He stopped at Harold’s side and looked at the complex data running on the screens at high speed and shook his head in total confusion, “Still no idea what’s going to happen when the clock reaches zero?” he asked evenly. 

He wanted to maintain a false sense of calm for Harold’s sake, but internally he was worried. This was the first time he’d ever seen his partner so lost and perplexed by anything computer related and that made him intensely nervous. 

John didn’t want Harold see the doubt and concern he was feeling; he had to keep up the appearance of unquestioning faith in Harold’s abilities to figure these things out in time… but secretly he couldn’t help his unease. It had been months now since the virus was uploaded and Harold was no closer in solving the mystery than he had been at the time.

Harold took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, “I still haven’t a clue, but I can guarantee one thing… it's not going to be good.”

John nodded, “A little under two days until we find out.” He observed. “Exactly how worried do you think we should be?”

Harold shook his head, “Honestly, John… I think we’re in a hell of a lot of trouble.” Harold looked up at his partner nervously, “I’m scared to death that we won’t have any time to act appropriately.”

John looked back at his uncharacteristically anxious partner and nodded again, not knowing what to say.

“All we can do wait and see if the Machine finds something before the clock hits zero.”

“And then what?” John asked hesitantly.

Harold took another deep breath and turned back to the monitors, “And then we hope to God that we can fix what gets broken.

“Until then… we keep our fingers crossed that nothing major comes in,” Harold remarked and sat back in his chair. “Has Miss Shaw been in contact with you since she wrapped up our latest number?”

“Yeah. She’s taking Bear out for a long, hard run, said she could use the time alone to meditate before she loses it and has to take somebody out.” John grinned at the affronted look on his partner's face.

“Well, you can't blame her for being a little antsy,” John began amused. “Think about it Finch... Shaw has gone from a being a superior, expertly-trained government sanctioned assassin, able to do things exactly the way she wanted, to a restrained field op that has to keep herself leashed and reeled in at all times try to avoid killing anyone again.”

John chuckled at the look of downright mortification on his partners face, “At least she’s trying, Harold.” John put his hand on his partner’s shoulder, “You should be proud, and…” He squeezed gently, “you’ve done a good job so far of not being one of her intended targets.” 

“That does not make me feel better, John.” Harold scoffed.

John saw the wince Harold had tried to hide and knew that he wasn’t at his best. His partner had been doing that a lot lately, more than usual and his limping gait was more pronounced as well. He just figured that the stress was getting to him. “You want a cup of tea?” he asked helpfully.

Harold pinched the bridge of his nose and sat back in his chair, “That would be lovely, thank you John.” 

John walked to the back to prepare the tea and Harold took his glasses off, rubbing his temples trying to soothe the migraine that was starting. The strain on his eyes from staring at computer monitors for hours on end was taking it's toll. 

He’d been taking his pain medication as prescribed, but it was hardly touching the discomfort he was experiencing continuously now. 

He’d had an especially hard time these past weeks with the weather wreaking havoc on his joints, and the fall he’d taken trying to keep up with one of their numbers three weeks ago. 

He should have told John and Sameen about it... but he knew they would have overreacted and he already had enough on his plate to deal with without having John’s overprotective concern and Shaw’s badgering on top of it. 

But it was starting to take its toll on him physically. The pain in his upper spine was particularly bad and he was beginning to feel nauseous from it. 

He should have seen a physician to rule out whiplash from the impact of hitting the ground as hard as he had, but didn’t feel as though he could have taken the time. The lumps and bruises he had acquired were a painful reminder but it couldn't be helped... he needed to keep himself focused on the new threat and didn’t feel that he could take the chance on taking any more medication than he was currently. 

He had to be at his best mentally, just in case. He had considered taking something additional only for a fleeting moment but there was no way he would. He couldn't chance anything that might interfere with his thought processing, no way he would ever risk putting his team members in jeopardy, even if it was hell on him personally.

He sat there, resting his eyes and relaxing as best he could, until an alert notifying him of a new number popped up on the screen. 

He opened his eyes and couldn’t believe what he was seeing at first, he gaped in complete shock at the numbers that were displayed right in front of him, plain as day. 

Harold knew Nathan’s social security number as well as he knew his own... ever since the day it had popped up the first time. 

He had to be sure. His blood pressure spiked and he began breathing heavily as he entered the numbers, anticipating the face he knew he would see. 

Nathan Ingram's grinning photograph stared back at him on the screen and he was dumbstruck.

John came back to the room and he could feel it in the air. There was something wrong with Harold and when he got closer, he could see what put him in the state he was in.

John couldn’t believe his own eyes, “But he’s dead… isn’t he Finch?” he asked in disbelief.

Harold couldn’t take his eyes off the screen and paused for a long moment, “Evidently not John,” he replied numbly. “As I've told you...The Machine is never wrong…”


End file.
